Meeting at the Alter
by Pemonynen
Summary: Based on the series 3 pictures that appeared yesterday!   Please excuse me while I flail madly!
1. Not a dream

_Late last night, after spending a good few hours on Tumblr getting extremely emotional about **THOSE** series 3 pictures, my brain created these little bits of fluff and happiness, and so now I've calmed down (slightly), I'm posting them here. Enjoy!_

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><p>The vicar gave him a small smile and a nod. It was time. He stood and stepped forwards, feeling like he'd forgotten how to walk, but all the while taking deep, calming breaths. Supposedly calming. He was nervous. He'd never been so nervous in his whole entire life. Not when he graduated from university. Not when he first moved to Downton. Not even in France when it could have so easily been the end. He was so nervous that he felt sick. But in a good way. In a good, heady, dizzy, giddy, excited way.<p>

He swallowed. His hands were shaking. He clasped them together in front of him, his knuckles white with the tension. He started tapping his thumb against his other hand, unable to stop the nervous energy that was bubbling through him and threatening to spill out. He looked ahead, and the vicar caught his eye with a smile, and he nodded; a barely imperceptible movement.

The doors opened.

The music started.

His heart stopped. This was it. This was happening right now. He licked his lips and swallowed again, his gaze dropping to the floor, every cell in his body focussed on staying still, and not turning round. She would be at his side in two minutes. But oh how those minutes dragged…

He could hear the congregation murmuring, but nothing above a low mumble. Nothing that would give anything away. He looked up to the ceiling and took another deep breath. And another. And a third for good measure. Was it normal for your legs to feel like they were made of blancmange? His heart was racing. Was he sweating? He felt hot and cold at the same time. His thumb didn't stop moving.

A nudge at his elbow. One last deep breath, and then he turned. Everything had stopped.

And there she was; a vision in pale lace and silk, eyes bright and cheeks flushed, smiling as brightly as she had when he'd proposed. As she did whenever she saw him. And then her hand was placed in his and for one brief moment he felt the slight tremble of her own nerves. Nerves that were rushing through her. Rushing through him. They squeezed the other's hand, a gesture unseen by everyone else. And their eyes were locked, and he knew he was staring at her with his mouth open, as he had done all of those years ago, but he couldn't help it, and she quickly raised her eyebrows, smile stretching a little further. And they both took a deep breath, before turning to the vicar, their grip on each other the only thing that felt _real_.


	2. But not quite real

One foot in front of the other. That was all she had to do. It was something she'd be doing for almost thirty years and yet today it felt like a stupidly complicated request. One in front of the other, in a straight line. Simple. She took a deep breath. Several deep breaths. Her hands clutching tightly at the bouquet of flowers, desperately trying to stop herself trembling, but to no avail. She felt lightheaded and giddy, and her mouth was very dry.

She didn't understand why she was so nervous. She had no reason to be, but as soon as she had stepped out of the car, her stomach had felt like it was full of butterflies and she lost the power of speech, merely nodding when anyone spoke to her. They only had to wait a few minutes, but oh how those minutes dragged…

It was time.

The doors opened. Her sisters gliding up the aisle first as the music started.

She looked at her father, whose arm she now held onto so tightly, afraid that if she didn't she might trip. Or fall. Or run to the end, and that would never do. He smiled; his eyes a little glassy, his other hand reaching to cover hers and squeezing gently. This was it. No going back now. Not that she wanted to. It was all very…surreal. He nodded and gently urged her forwards. One foot in front of the other.

Then she saw him. Her heart stopped. His head was bent, but he was still stood perfectly straight, perfectly still. Even from the back he was so handsome. _So handsome_. Was he nervous? Maybe. Probably. Yes, if it was anything like how she felt…

She breathed deeply as she walked up, looking at the people on both sides who were gazing in wonder at her, some with tears in their eyes, her cheeks flushing and a smile spreading across her face. Every inch the blushing bride. She could hear murmuring, but she couldn't make out what they were saying. It didn't matter. All that mattered was the man who was stood at the alter; whose blonde hair was shining in the sunlight that was bursting through the windows. Who made her heart race and stop, and who made her nervous and excited. Who was waiting _for her_.

One foot in front of the other. Never before had she been so grateful to be at her father's side: letting him hold her up, needing him to support her…wanting him to give her away to the only other man who loved her as much, if not more, than he did.

It took two minutes. So close. One foot. Then the other. And then she was next to him. And everything stopped. And he turned, and his mouth dropped open, eyes wide. He was so handsome in his suit. _So handsome_. And she felt a blush creep up through her as he gazed at her in a look of pure love. He took her hand. He was shaking. They smiled briefly, secretively at each other, fingers squeezing, slowly turning to the vicar. This had to be a dream.

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><p><em>There you go, hope you enjoyed them! Thank you for reading!<em>

_(Goes back to flailing!)_


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